A Dream Come True
by Cappygal116
Summary: Life is not how it's supposed to be. Yet, it's a dream come true. How can these two both be true? How can Ginny's life be a nightmare and a dream? Perhaps Ginny's isn't the only perception.quick depressing oneshot. R&R please!


His bright green eyes twinkled as he told me a joke he heard from my infamous brothers so many years ago. Sometimes, it's the things from the past that seem so new when everything seems the same. In five minutes, my mum's yells will come up the stairs and Harry and I will return to the life we have come to love. Who knew that the adventure seeking Harry Potter would ever live such a simple life? Just him and me sitting together in front of a fireplace, sometimes talking, sometimes just sitting.

"Ginny! Get down here! Mum wants you!"

"Ronald! I said _go_ get your sister! I can yell for her as well as you can!"

I couldn't help but smile to myself when I heard Mum yelling at Ron. I turned to Harry and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Be back in a flash," I whispered before apparating downstairs.

I landed in the living room, but quickly left as I saw Ron and Hermione happily cuddling together and watching my brother cuddle is no where near the bottom of my to-do list; it's much lower. In the kitchen I saw Mum frantically running from pot to steaming pot. "Mum?" I asked. She nearly jumped out of her skin at my voice.

"Oh Ginny! You gave me quite a turn! Here, stir these pots while I dice the onions for the soup." I flicked my wand at the large wooden spoons sitting in the pots on the stove. My mum looked at the self-stirring pots for a moment before mumbling, "Of course...always used to do that. Now where did my wand go?"

"Mum, what's going on?" I asked. Mum never cooked _by hand_. It just wasn't done without magic.

"Oh, Hermione's parents are coming over for a bit of supper and I thought it'd be nice for them to enjoy a meal cooked like they're used to!" she said brightly.

I rolled my eyes, imagining what Dad would think of this oppurtunity to ask about Muggle life. "Does Dad know?" I asked, almost afraid of what the answer would be.

"Of course dear. Now why don't you scrub the table? And do it for real! I happen to know for a fact that your cleaning spells aren't exactly up to scratch."

Sighing, I grabbed the rag in the sink and began scrubbing the table. "Is everyone going to fit in here?" I asked.

"Of course not, but the food will," my mother said distractedly as she measured out a cup of onions.

Two hours later, the kitchen smelled fantastic and we were all dressed in our muggle clothes. Somehow, all of us fit in the living room. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I were squashed on the couch, something we didn't really mind, considering the seating arrangements. Mum and Dad were standing near the door. Percy, Charlie, and Bill were sitting in our three chairs in front the fireplace. Fred and George were sitting on the floor. And Mr. and Mrs. Granger were standing awkwardly by the front door.

"Well, I believe dinner's ready. Shall we?" my mum offered as she ducked into the kitchen. "Just grab a plate and help yourself. We'll eat out in the garden," she announced. There was a series of clanking plates and silverware, several accidents involving a few Weasely Wizarding Wheezes, a few honest accidents, and only a handful of threats. All in all, it was a very quiet procession out to the garden. We spent hours talking and enjoying the newfound peace in our victory over the Dark Lord. It was just as I had imagined it

---

I rolled over and opened my eyes slowly. It had been such a good dream; I really didn't want to get up just yet. But I had to wake up and get dressed. It was the anniversary to our victory, and we were going to celebrate. I laughed dryly as I thought of who all would be there...Ron, myself, Fred, Bill, Mum, a couple of my old Professors, and several people from the ministry that I didn't really know. So many people had died. I really don't understand why we're celebrating, but Mum would have a fit if she caught me skipping it. _You're alive, and for that you should celebrate._

Yeah, some life. Half my friends dying in battle and most of the other half getting killed in their sleep because of whom their parents are. But of course, I can't forget the handful of friends who high-tailed it out of here once the real dying started. And half my family was dead too. I live in some dismal apartment in the middle of a muggle city, working for some branch of Fred's shop, long-distancely of course. My food tastes like cardboard because I either don't have time to make real food, or I just don't see the purpose in it. And the sleep I do get on the stupid creaky old bed is often riddled with nightmares of how it all ended. Last night had been a wonderful reprieve, my old day dream of what life would be like after the stupid war. I pulled on a clean set of black robes and pulled my hair back, shuddering as I remembered Harry's last battle.

He had been playing the hero, trying to save some family of muggles before Voldemort even showed up. Sadly, we didn't get there until the house was engulfed in crackling flames. Of course while he was in the burning house, Voldemort and at least fifty of his death eaters showed up and killed everyone they saw that had gone with Harry in his rash rescue operation. Charlie and grabbed me and put some charm on my robes to make them flame resistant then sent me inside to warn Harry. Sadly, that was the last I ever saw of Charlie.

The smoke had been suffocating, but luckily, Harry was near the door. I remember choking out "death" before Harry burst outside, as angry as I've ever seen him.

I ran out after him, scared to death what I might find. And sure enough, there was my worst fear. Yes, Voldemort was gone. His papery skin flaking away as the years he had lived past his death took their tool, but there was Harry, bleeding until he was as white as Voldemort. I didn't need to get any closer. I could tell that Harry was dead, along with everyone else who had come with him tonight.

I went home that night, shocked that it was really over. Not only the war, but also my life as I knew it. We had always been lucky, apparently our luck had run out.

I wiped a tear off of my cheek and checked my reflection in the mirror before apparating to Diagon Alley and the celebration of so many deaths. My dream was how life was supposed to be now. My life is how it was dreamed to be; how Voldemort had dreamed it would be. For him, the catastrophic defeat of Harry Potter and all his silly little supporters was the same as killing every muggle and mudblood and purifying the world: a dream come true.


End file.
